Samuel Goldwyn

You don’t realize what life’s all about until you find yourself lying on the brink of a great abscess.

Gentlemen, listen to me slowly!

Mr. Goldwyn, it’s conference time
I’ll be right there, and then we’ll get into a cuddle.

I go to the movies every night. Why not? I’ve got to do something to take my mind off of business.

There’s not enough sarcasm in the musical score.

Tell me, how did you love my picture?

This is a perfect scenario. It is the first time in my life that I’ve seen a perfect scenario. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with it. I want you to have a hundred copies made so I can distribute them to all the other writers so that everybody should see a really perfect script. And hurry, before I start rewriting it.

If you can’t give me your word of honor, will you give me your promise?

We’re overpaying him but he’s worth it.

Here I am paying big money to you writers and what for? All you do is change the words.

If this scene isn’t the greatest love scene ever put on film, the whole goddamned picture will go right up out of the sewer.

Didn’t you hear me keeping still?

”Why is everything so dirty here?”
“Because it’s supposed to be a slum area.”
“Well, this slum cost a lot of money. It should look better than an ordinary slum.”

Keep a stiff upper chin.

”We’ve got to get some new blood around here. I want to sign up a new writer, talented but completely unknown, who’ll bring us new ideas and a fresh viewpoint.”
“I know just the man for you... a young playwright by the name of John Patrick.”
“Never heard of him. Who else can you come up with?”

How am I going to do decent pictures when all my good writers are in jail?... Don’t misunderstand me; they all ought to be hung.